


Because the Night

by irolltwenties (Shenanigans)



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: AU, M/M, Malex, and I wanted to play with it, so i did, there's a thing going around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 08:57:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18465691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans/pseuds/irolltwenties
Summary: It felt like an accidental game of tag, the way Michael’s eyes kept catching on Alex’s gaze throughout the night. He’d be sipping the smokey tequila (nicer than anything he’d buy for himself) and find himself sharing a breath with those dark eyes across the patio. He’d turn his head at the sound of Isobel’s laugh, wetting his lips and smiling softly at the way her nose wrinkled before shocking at the spike of heat curled low in his gut when he caught a quirk of black eyebrow and a hint of a pink tongue.





	Because the Night

1.

Michael was a deep body sort of stoned, eyes heavy lidded as he watched the party from where he was sprawled over the couch. The music had that soft synthy clap, deep beat that rocked along the base of his skull, nodding like it was as close to fucking as he was allowed to get in a room full of strangers. He’d passed the drug test, graduated from Stanford, and landed the dream job. He’d flown home for the weekend, getting ready to head to his new apartment and unpack the three boxes he’d shipped to himself. He left his shitty Chevy in Isobel’s drive when she’d just frowned so eloquently and twirled the keys to Noah’s Audi at him.

He had to admit, the seats felt like sex and the sound system was even better. She’d laughed, waggling her eyebrows at him before flooring it on the open straight away. He’d whooped, feeling the hot desert air tousle his curls and tilted his head up to grin at the sky, feeling for just a moment like he had finally arrived.

The house was low slung and white stucco, sprawling across the mesa with a rambling patch of bougainvillea that blossomed an almost violent red pink. There were lights on, warm and inviting, but the muffled sounds of the party hit as they wandered up, Iz hanging on to the edge of her skirt, heels moving in an easy pace that she knew rollicked her hips in a hypnotic sway. She’d handed him the THC pen as she clicked the locks on the car doors.

“I thought *I* was supposed to be the bad influence,” Michael muttered, tilting his chin at her.

“Oh, lighten up,” she muttered, taking it back and hitting it easily. “It’s your night.” She frowned again, reaching up to try and tame his hair as Michael ducked away instinctively. He’d made it about twenty minutes before the edges started to become hazy, blurring a beautiful indistinct.

They’d just walked into the party, Iz throwing up an elegant hand to wave at where Noah was surrounded by his work colleagues. There was a long in ground pool, lit and glowing blue cut into the back yard. The house was mostly windows in the back, the stone pathway blending easily into a large patio that was elegantly furnished with teak furniture that probably cost more than Michael’s truck. There was a small grotto just past all of it, covered in the same wild shade of pink bougainvillea that wandered over the slatted wood to lean against the far wall of the house. The back doors were open, slid into each other so that the entire house yawned into the evening, string lights giving that perfectly thought out golden glow. Michael had never felt so welcomed and completely out of his element at the same time. He tugged the cuff of his jacket a little lower over his wrist and watched the crowd fold Iz up like a hug, leaving him to decide on moving inside or settling quietly somewhere outside to watch.

He’d ended up halfway between the two, drink sitting carefully on a coaster while he watched the party through the open doors like it was his new favorite show. The couch was the kind of comfortable he’d read about in books. The whole place felt worn and expensive, just the right careful touches of wood and white with well kept brass elements. He studied the grain in the arm, fingers tracing the smooth wood before realizing how high he must look and shoving to his feet. He wobbled a little, grin smearing reckless around the corners of his mouth before he nodded once- reassuring himself and started walking. He found the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the counter before trading it in for two fingers of tequila from the provided bar.

There was a burst of laughter and he felt himself turning to look before his head followed, getting distracted halfway there by the line of classic guitars hung on the wall in the hallway. “Oh damn,” he breathed, reaching for one without thinking. He paused, running through a quick scales and shook his head. It was beautiful, mellow toned and well kept but wildly out of tune. He turned a quick circle, spotting a bench and shouldered his way into the room, sitting down and carefully setting to the task of tuning the beautiful black lacquered instrument. When he finished he started a quick counter melody to the music pumping through the speakers hidden throughout the house that were sifting the ambient music throughout the house. He hummed, closing his eyes at the sweet sound that vibrated against his stomach through the clothes Iz had picked out for him.

“What the hell?”

The voice was loud and close, the guitar jerking in his hands and MIchael flailed slightly, letting go and standing up too quickly, head cracking against someone else’s chin. He winced, stumbled back and grabbed onto the person in front of him while also trying to catch the guitar. The man in front of him was glaring, black brows knitted together as he wiped at the his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“Shit, are you okay?” Michael did a little half step before turning to carefully set the guitar down and look back. The guy was bleeding, tonguing at the cut on the inside of his lip while simultaneously glaring at Michael with dark eyes. *Shit.*

“What are you doing?”

“It was out of tune,” Michael managed, trying to not stare, eyes a little wide. “You’re welcome?”

“You can’t just take things,” he said, voice calming to something more reasonable as he reached past him to lift the guitar gently and Michael didn’t miss the way his thumb gently stroked over the strings.

“I was going to put it back.” He paused, cocking his head and just watching. The other man wore a slim cut maroon suit that highlighted the golden tones of his skin. He had messy black hair and expressive eyes, a scar that tilted over his left brow and long fingered hands. Michael felt under dressed in his gray suit and messy curls. “I’m sorry?”

There was a brief flicker that clouded over the other man’s face before he seemed to relax, tilting his head like he’d made a decision to not be upset. “It was my mother’s.” He said it quietly, wetting his lips. “I’m sorry I startled you.”

Michael shrugged. “Just a little out of place,” he admitted, tossing the other man a brief smile. “Sometimes it feels like I can’t find anywhere that’s… quiet. So, I don’t know. It’s like there was this answer- just you know, hanging there. I play music and it goes quiet for a little while in my head.” He shrugged, tearing his eyes away when he realized he’d been staring. “My entropy changes.”

The other man narrowed his eyes, brows drawing together before he shifted from foot to foot. He was impossibly polished, elegant in a tailored suit but thrumming with a simmering energy that Michael was finding it impossible to look away from. “I’m Alex.”

“Michael,” he replied, holding out a hand. Alex handed him an amused look, holding the guitar with one hand and taking Michael’s fingers awkwardly with the wrong hand, pumping once and huffing a low laugh.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, wetting his lips. Michael was half sure he was flirting, eyes flickering to his mouth and back up, but he’d misread the signals from men before. Women were easier. Alex flicked his expressive brows up, teeth set against his bottom lip as he backed out of the room.

“Stay as long as you like,” he replied, backing out of what Michael was realizing was a bedroom. “It’s cold outside.”

Michael watched him go, breathing out one long slow breath. *Fuck.*

2.

It felt like an accidental game of tag, the way Michael’s eyes kept catching on Alex’s gaze throughout the night. He’d be sipping the smokey tequila (nicer than anything he’d buy for himself) and find himself sharing a breath with those dark eyes across the patio. He’d turn his head at the sound of Isobel’s laugh, wetting his lips and smiling softly at the way her nose wrinkled before shocking at the spike of heat curled low in his gut when he caught a quirk of black eyebrow and a hint of a pink tongue.

He saw Alex smile, bright and open at something one of Noah’s partners said. He watched the way Alex shook his wrist once to light up his watch, reading with a quirk of lips. He’d found himself drawn into the gravity of the other man, circling helplessly on a tighter loop as the night wore on and the crowd thinned. The evening started to cool finally, wind kicking the scent of sage across the sand to mingle with chlorine and the wet gray green smell of mesquite. Michael found his place in the party, shoulder leaned against the loamy feeling wall that sculpted up from the prickly garden to hold the edges of the patio in place. There was a small unlit fire pit built into the pavers and the chairs were cushioned, softer than the vintage metal chairs he’d been using on the rooftop of his apartment building back in college. The ground still radiated warmth even as the groups started huddling a little closer, bare arms prickling as the wind played hopscotch with itself in the corners.

He knew the moment Alex had slipped out of his jacket. He knew where it was draped casually over the back of the mid century modern captain’s chair near the bookcases off the living room. They’d shared a look, Michael feeling his mouth drop open on a shaky breath when Alex ducked his head and glanced up through his lashes. It squeezed at his lungs, this anticipation of being seen. He felt like he was holding his breath between minutes, heart skipping with each connection.

 

He found Iz again, leaning happily against Noah’s shoulder on the long white cushioned outdoor couch. She’d dropped her strappy heels onto the ground and tucked up, toes curling when she laughed. Noah watched her like she was something incredible and Michael nodded once, turning to find himself being overtly watched. Alex was in a group of people, clustered around the countertop in the open kitchen, small recessed lights tossing a warm glow over his skin like he’d found a soft focus spotlight.

Michael didn’t turn away. He didn’t blink, just watched him back for a few breaths, face open with the question that seemed to be between each look. Alex quirked a brow at him, eyes flickering from his mouth back to the heavy touch of Michael’s gaze, answering. The man was stunning, gaze like a gut punch that Michael hadn’t been expecting even when he looked for it. He liked that messy strands of black hair. He lingered on the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the soft tilt of his mouth. He watched the way Alex touched the neck of his beer bottle, fingers suggestive and absent minded at the rim. His skin buzzed, prickling electric like he knew what those fingers would feel like, smoothing over the soft hairs on his arms, pressing just under the hem of his shirt. He wanted to twist out of his jacket and forget the buttons- peel Alex like something fascinating, dig until he hit skin and then push deeper.

There was a lull in the music and he watched Alex blink and look away, tearing something tangible. Michael finally took a breath, blinking a few times and looking down at his shoes so he didn’t stare at the line of Alex’s throat. He was wearing an old cast off suit of Noah’s, too tight in the shoulders and a soft dove gray. It felt strange on him, the white cotton of the oxford, the line of the pants tight around his hips and cut just a little long around his ankles. He missed his jeans: the ones that felt soft as breath, but heavy warm with the shape of him. He missed the clatter of his belt buckle. He missed the ease of a white t-shirt and felt wildly out of place, awkward and pretending. He scrunched up his face, angry at himself for a moment and blew out a breath, smoothing the practiced sexual swagger he’d perfected over the years and turned back to his drink.

He was starting to feel the tequila even as he sobered from the deep bass notes of weed in his bones. It left him itchy, a little off balance and spun around. He glanced back to the kitchen, but Alex was gone. Michael shook his head, kicking off where he was perched and wandered back into the house, telling himself he was looking for the bathroom.

The guitar was back in the hallway and Michael traced the soft edge of the bottom curve, passing the bedroom to try another door. The first on the left was an office, smooth wood desk mounted with multiple monitors and a sleek looking computer. He closed it and moved to the next, ducking in to see another darkened bedroom, sheets messy but tidied in a hasty way. He ducked back out, stopping when Alex came out of the last door. There was five feet between them and Michael couldn’t have taken a step forward in that moment if he’d been able to move mountains with his mind. He just watches Alex watch him. The other man takes a step forward and Michael’s mind short circuits and he’s moving.

He feels Alex’s fingers slide around his wrist, the way he ducked close and tilted so his jaw lined up against Michael’s, breath grazing the shell of his ear. “We doing this?”

Michael’s smile was reckless and he felt the shudder of *want* that turned his head away like a slap before rolling liquidly back to Alex like he was magnetic. “Been half hard since you took your guitar.”

There was a moment when Alex’s eyes looked startled, widening before going soft and intense. This close he was beautiful in a way that caught in Michael’s throat, pulse pounding under the soft touch of Alex’s fingers. He could feel his heartbeat shaking under his skin, stuttering and intense like standing too close to the bass. Alex smelled lovely, hot and spicy with that expensive clean notes. He wanted to taste the golden skin at the edge of his smile. He wanted to taste the divot at the corner of his jaw. He wanted. He *needed*.

Alex simply ducked his head, smile grazing against Michael’s jaw as he moved him with his body, spinning him around and not even needing to pull- Michael was caught up and in motion. They tangled just inside the door, Michael reaching even as Alex’s fingers slid into his curls. They crashed together, mouths slanting and *hungry*, tasting the groan and not sure if it was his or Alex’s voice. Alex pulled at his hair, like he’d gone taut with need and was hanging on before he lost his balance. The door clattered shut behind them, the thud of Michael’s body muffled as Alex crowded in. Michael opened to him, knees parting, making space to slot those thighs between his. He wanted to press until he was flattened, doing nothing more than wrapping tight around whatever Alex would give him. It *hurt* the way this caught fire so quick, sparking and flickering white at the edges of his vision, even though his eyes were closed. “Breathe,” Alex reminded him with a soft laugh and Michael smiled, nodding tight and close, feeling the smooth tip of Alex’s nose against his.

“Take this off.”

“Take it off me,” Alex replied, voice a low burr in the dim. Everything was edged in shadow and blue, soft and cool seeming until he got his hands on it, the head of Alex’s skin at the back of his neck, the weight of his head between his palms, the slick obscene heat of his mouth. Michael was lost to it.

“I’m going to fucking break something,” Michael muttered, voice angry around the way Alex’s shirt had so many buttons. He ducked his head, swallowing and trying to find where his fingers were, but only shaking into the sound of Alex whispering his name and curling a hand around his wrist, stopping him and pausing.

“Breathe,” he reminded, tongue touching his lips as he assessed Michael, calculating and hot.

Michael exhaled. His fingers shook, but he wasn’t watching what his hands were doing. He was watching the way Alex’s eyes traced over his gaze. He was watching the small crease between his brows, the cock of his head. He was watching the flicker of tongue as Alex wet his lips. It was the sweetest torture. He shook his head, gripping the fabric of Alex’s shirt and pushing, twisting and spinning him around to press him back to the door. The fabric slipped easily from where it was tucked, and Michael had to take a deep slow breath as he spread his palms over the soft heated skin of Alex’s stomach. “That’s it,” Alex smiled, a small chuck of his chin inviting Michael’s mouth back to his.

It felt sacred and obscene, the softer kiss as Michael fumbled the belt open, trying to figure out the way Alex’s slacks were buttoned. He could feel Alex breathing in the way his stomach went tense against his knuckles, feel the elastic of his boxer briefs. Alex kissed him slowly, peppering a soft quick kiss like punctuating the sentence of this desire. It was dizzying and powerful. Michael aching into the feel of his cock going hard, pressing awkward for a moment before he hitched himself up to tuck into the waist of his borrowed pants. He would have to get them dry cleaned, precome leaking a stain into the gray.

Alex reached and helped him unfasten his slacks, mouth swollen and open as he pushed Michaels fingers lower, arching up with a full body shake. They shared a startled hot look when Michael curled his fingers around Alex’s cock, the heat and weight perfect and mouthwatering. “Just,” he started, shaking his head a little and ducking back in to kiss Alex one more time before his knees went out and he pressed his face against the soft skin of his stomach, lips catching on the line of dark hair. Alex carded his fingers into his curls, looking down his body to watch. Michael grinned, loose and sex drunk before dragging his bottom lip along the edge of the elastic as he turned his wrist, bunching the fabric out of his way.

“Yes.” Alex’s head thumped back on the door, eyes falling shut on a face that looked pained when Michael opened his mouth and touched his tongue questioning to where Alex was leaking and wet. He tasted slick, salty and a little bitter. This close he smelled like salt skin and heat, the spice of his cologne an afterthought as Michael’s mouth watered, jaw clenching once before he closed his eyes and closed his mouth around Alex’s cock. He exhaled through his nose and just let the feel of it settle on his tongue, overwhelmed and achingly hard in his pants. He softened his lips, letting them stumble along the shaft, the vein rolling under the flat of his tongue.

The bedroom was quiet, the party a vague memory just outside the door. There were bursts of laughter and that ambient ever present beat. He could taste the smoke of that fine tequila at the back of his throat. He could tell himself that this was a quick and dirty fuck at a party, a strange man’s dick in his mouth again, but when he glanced up Alex looked *wounded*. He could feel the restless way his hands were skating over his hair, cupping the back of his head as he worked, pressing and sucking, fingers tight on those slim hips, the skin still golden in the dark. There was a bed vaguely nearby, but like this- this close with Alex’s hands in his hair and his thighs spread as far as they could around the tight tangle of his slacks, Michael just wanted to break apart. He was trembling, calves cramping as his toes curled in the one pair of dress shoes he owned.

He groaned, low in his chest and reluctantly let go of Alex’s hips to shove a hand into his pants and fuck into his fist roughly. He choked a little, pulling off to pant with his forehead against the cut of Alex’s hip. “Oh fuck,” he breathed, voice rough as he stroked.

There was a moment of silence, just them breathing raggedly in the dark before Michael looked up, eyes helpless as Alex hooked a thumb at the corner of his mouth and tugged at his teeth- urging him open- rolling his hips to press past and slide over his tongue.

He had a split second where he was nothing but terrified, broke by the heat of this. He shook, heart pounding loud in his ears as Alex fucked into his mouth, soft and determined with that line of concentration cutting between his brows. He kept his fingers at Michael’s mouth, feeling the way his lips stretched, feeling the way his cheeks hollowed. Michael’s shoulders moved, hand going tighter around himself, greedy and tense. He could feel the way Alex was going hot, skin prickling damp with sweat. He could hear the frustrated needy sounds he was biting back. They sounded like his name.

Alex tapped at his shoulder, a warning and he felt a rebellious urge to push deeper, press his nose into the crisp black hair and swallow, but he pulled off, panting as he watched Alex grip himself, stroking with short sharp flicks of his wrist. He watched, matching the rhythm he set. He sat back on his heels, dick in his hand as Alex’s mouth dropped open, face just wrecked as he came, pulsing over his knuckles, come hot like blood. Michael stared, watching Alex stumble a little to the left, off center as he panted in a long bowed line against the door. Alex started to smile then, just something so small Michael would have missed it if he hadn’t been so focused.

“Fuck,” he managed, coming helplessly over his fingers, head bowed as he pulsed, stomach knotting sweetly. He heard the way Alex breathed a laugh, helpless as he panted.

“I haven’t done that since I was seventeen.”

Michael closed his eyes before tipping his head back and swallowing hard. Alex was smiling in the evening dim, teeth straight and beautiful with his tongue tucked behind them, helplessly fond as he reached to touch Michael’s curls. Outside the door, Michael heard his name. He looked down before back to where Alex was standing. His white oxford was half open, slacks bunched around his thighs. He was obscene, half tucked and spent against the door. Michael huffed a breath, tucking himself away and trying to find his balance. “You’re welcome?”

“How polite,” Alex raised his eyebrows in one quick motion and Michael’s dick shocked painfully sweet. He hissed, squaring his jaw and reached to place a palm on the wall, levering to his feet. He heard his name again, closer this time and a little sing song. The room felt small and hot, sex damp but cocooned away from the party that was starting to flicker back into his awareness. There was a thump and a squeal, a riotous laugh and he was buckling his pants making a face at the cooling mess he’d made of himself, eyes never leaving Alex’s face.

“Michael!” Isobel’s voice was muffled around the laughter and the sound of the icemaker on the fridge going off.

“Can I-” he started.

“MICHAEL!” Isobel had two volumes, normal and imperious screech. He winced, hearing her start thumping on doors with a small fist. “Michael, we have to go. If you’re-” She was moving down the hall and his eyes went wide as Alex startled, ducking away from the door to try and straighten himself up quickly, misbuttoning his shirt with a string of muttered profanity. Michael ducked forward, catching a kiss as he shoved his shirt back into his pants and buckling the belt. He wiped his hand on the inside of his jacket before opening the door. He knew he must look a wreck, hair wild and half tucked away at the way Isobel’s face twisted, nose wrinkling before shaking her head at him. “I don’t want to know.”

“No, you don’t.” He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes, tipping her head down the hall.

“That’s literally what I just said. Ugh.” She made an abortive gesture at his hair, thinking better of it before just hooking her arm in his and tugging him along down the hall. Michael managed to throw a look back over his shoulder, hearing the door click closed behind him. “I don’t care who she was-”

“For someone who doesn’t want to know,” Michael sighed, swallowing around the hope that he’d see Alex slip out of the bedroom to watch him go. They turned the corner and the door stayed shut.

Isobel waved a hand at him, effectively shushing him. “You’re driving.”

Michael swallowed thick around an irrational disappointment and nodded. “If Max,” he started.

“I’ll handle him,” Isobel replied, haughty and a little slurred as she patted his arm. “Have fun?”

The air outside was still warm, crisper around the edges as the gravel crunched under their steps. Michael glanced back one more time, hope caught in his chest. “A blast.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come flail with me [here](irolltwenties.tumblr.com)!


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